


A Taste for Suffering

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Eye Trauma, Gore, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Sadism, Spoilers - The Last Mabelcorn, Tentacles, The Mindscape, Triangle Bill Cipher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: Bill loves Ford's devotion. But sometimes he wants to know his limits, wants to know where he'll stop bending and start breaking.





	A Taste for Suffering

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Un goût pour la souffrance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159349) by [Nelja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja). 



> Thanks to sixerpines and therandomtiger for the beta!

Six-Fingers arches his back and moans, lying on a dream-made couch. His gaze stays on Bill, as if the triangle were the source of his pleasure, not his own fingers playing with his half-hard penis, emulating some kind of animal mating.

Bills knows the rules of human copulation quite well. He has already observed it a few times; that comes with the omniscience. It can be funny at first, but ridicule can get boring fast.

This fleshbag's feelings for him are more interesting, though. Bill can remember being venerated in two main flavors: hypocrisy, from those who hoped for a fraction of his power in exchange, and respectful terror, from those who knew him better. Stanford Pines’ fascinated adoration is something new, though, and Bill loves new things.

He raises his hand and strokes Six-Fingers' hair. It's not affection, of course. He's just interested in seeing his reactions. 

Ford jumps and moans. It's quite satisfying.

"Please..." Ford whispers.

"Please what?" Bill asks, happy with his little worshipper. He loved being prayed to, being begged to. He didn't found half a dozen triangle-worshipping religions only because it's funny to see them fight each other.

"Touch me..." The young fleshbag's cheeks change color, filling with blood. It's amusing, but even better: Bill can see all his thoughts, and his embarrassment adds a little spice to his feelings. It’s a very intense, vibrant devotion, but quite simple at the end.

"Why?" Bill asks, playing innocent. "I'm already touching you."

"Because... because... oh, there's no reason... I shouldn't ask... you already let me... you already watch me... it makes me happy... only... I wish you would touch me everywhere and always... oh, please." He begged again. Good. Bill can appreciate this.

He could use his other hand, but instead, he has long tentacles springing from his back, aiming towards Six-Fingers. He wants to surprise him a bit. He wouldn't have any interest for this human if he didn't like new things too.

Ford is startled, but he doesn't recoil as tentacles lazily brush his shoulders, his back, his abdomen. He moans again, softly. Bill had made his new appendages smooth and slippery, soft to the touch.

"Thank you," Ford tries to articulate. "Oh, thank you!" His fist moves harder against his sex. The fleshbag's lips find one of the tentacles and fervently brush against it. This human's devotion is intoxicating, almost solid, and for one moment, Bill wonders if he wouldn't like to play with this feeling forever, even after he has conquered this world.

The next instant, he thinks about how amusing it would be to test it.

"Turn around," he asks. "Lay on your stomach." Ford may be lost in his pleasure, but he doesn't hesitate. Bill's voice remains the most important thing to it, that’s good! In this position, it's harder for him to stimulate his genitalia, but he keeps going, slower, hand half-stuck under his abdomen.

"What do you feel for me?" Bill asks, stroking Ford's ass and thighs now with silky tentacles.

There's no reply for a while, and even the fleshbag's loud moans stop.

"I love you more than I thought I could love anyone," he finally confesses with a deep breath.

Bill's eye excitedly sparkles. Oh, this is gonna be interesting. "Do you trust me?" he continues.

"Always," Six-Fingers moans, twitching again, wriggling his hips to rub his sex against his hand.

This is not a promise Bill really believes in, but it will be so fun to see how long he can keep it, he thinks, laughing in his mind. He inflates one of his tentacles and thrusts it hard in Ford's asshole, a violent and voracious intrusion.

The humans cries out, tears welling in his eyes. "Stop!" he shouts, once he gets his voice back. "It hurts!" It's delicious, seeing him cry. Bill grants him his request, but he's not finished with him.

"I'm sorry," he says. He's not even sure he understands what this sentence means, but it works well in these situations. He strokes Ford's hair, his cheeks, delighting in the sensation of the tears on his fingers. He slides them in Ford's mouth, for the human to taste his own pain.

"I got carried away," he says. "I wanted you too badly." This part is not really a lie, just misinterpreted by a human whose cheeks redden again. "I thought it was just a dream for you, that your body wouldn't really be hurt. Even when I see you feeling pleasure, I feel like I'm missing..." No more fake sincerity, he gets all playful again. "Do you know why I love to watch you? Of course, it's because it's you, but also because masturbation is something so specifically human. I couldn't do it, even thinking about you, and you can do it when I'm not here. I know, I watched."

Blood rises again in Fordsy's cheeks. Bill strokes it again, circles his sex with a tentacle, gets him breathy and hard all anew. He's amused by his little human’s thirst for knowledge, but he must keep Ford focused on the subject at hand. It's not time for him to ask questions about the sexuality of other fleshbags like Gnomes or Manotaurs. He must think about Bill only. He was chosen for this.

"Do you really like doing this to me?" Ford asks uncertainly.

Oh yes. Bill got a glimpse of his favorite human's pain, and he doesn't feel like he could get bored of it. "I'd want it so much," he says light-heartedly, "but it's impossible for you, isn't it?"

"But if you can't... take pleasure in any other way..." Six-Fingers feels guilty. He feels selfish. Bill savors these feelings, in waves. It's not as intense as physical pain is, but it's so much subtler; also, he doesn't have any real experience with it.

"You gave me so much," Ford breathes again. He doesn't only mean bodily pleasures, but he certainly thinks about them. Hard to forget in his circumstances. "I wish..." His voice gets firmer again, he looks up again, meets Bill's gaze. "Do what you want with my body," he declares. "You're right, it's only a dream. I owe you this and more."

Bill triumphs internally. This human is his, maybe more than any of them ever was. "Anyways, I guess you still know how to wake up," he asks innocently. "So I can't go too far by mistake. You just have to want it, at any time, and you'll be in your bed again with no pain. And you'll just have to laugh, imagining me left alone, writhing in nothing."

But Ford won't find their separation funny, Bill knows; and by offering him this exit, he only dissuades him from asking him to stop.

Bill softly strokes him again, for some time, but it's not the same, seeing him shivering in fear. He lets Ford worry a little, before entering him again, as cruelly as the first time.

Ford opens his mouth but holds back his scream, this time, even if he cries again. Bill writhes inside him, feels around, tests the solidity of his entrails. He thinks he feels miscellaneous biological fluids running on his borrowed arms, and he brings out a tiny tongue at his tentacle's end. It's exactly as sordid and spicy as he hoped for.

He misses seeing blood running, though, and another tentacle, then two, become sharp as razorblades, cutting into the fleshbag's skin, turning him upside down, inside out, in every possible sense.

Real blood tastes better, but dream blood is a very acceptable replacement. It runs almost as prettily and the pain is real.

Ford is now weeping loudly, his suffering sharp and harrowing. Bill savors it. He could make is visible, waves of blood. He could make it a cruel and painful sound. But he chooses to make it a harsh, biting flavor that his eye swallows whole.

It won't damage Ford's body, even a bit! The human could take advantage of it, ignore his animal reactions, making the most of the situation. But he can also hate it, too bad for him. Bill can like this for two.

"I love you," Ford intones very softly, to fortify or convince himself. "I love you I love you I love you I love you."

It's delicious. The complexity of these splintered feelings; this reticent, desperate acceptation; this urge to beg him to stop, mixed with guilt, guilt for even thinking about it, guilt for having denied him one time already. This adoration Six-Fingers clings to like a lifeboat.

Some tentacles keep sweetly stroking Ford, to make his feelings even more confused, even more exquisite to Bill. He's happy to make him cry but he also wants to make him come. He'll draw from inside him every human emotion, every animal fluid, everything.

Ford sobs even harder when he reaches orgasm, mixing passionate rapture with his pain. One day, Bill avidly thinks, he'll make the human beg for exactly this.

But for now he doesn't mean to stop, anything but that. Ford feels even more like he owes him something, so Bill's tentacles get deeper under his skin, sucking his blood like vampires. He suddenly feels like stabbing his eye with a tentacle, making an all-new fluid spurt. Hey, Sixer, he thinks, laughing at his own joke, didn't you want to be like me? A monster with just one eye?

Ford screams at the top of his lungs. Bill enjoys every second of it. He feels more pleased and fulfilled than he ever hoped.

After such suffering, he guesses, Six-Fingers can't keep sleeping. It would show a willpower that he had no reason to have or use. Bill probably went a little far at the end, his acts hard to justify. He'll probably have to make the human forget this dream, otherwise he won't want to do it again.

But Ford stays in the Dreamscape, huddled up in foetal position, still whispering I love you I love you and Bill no longer knows what he should do with him.

He slowly gets a tentacle close to him. The human withdraws, and Bill feels offended without understanding why. Hey, Ford told he would let him do anything! And for once Bill has no bad intentions, he's just curious.

He would wake him up and make him forget, just as planned. Except a part of him irrationally longs to prove that Ford shouldn't react this way.

So he strokes him very softly, and uses his power over dreams to heal the wounds, suppress the pain. The human glares upon him with his remaining eye, panicked, like he understands nothing of it.

Soon Bill has erased the atrocious pain in his entrails, in his empty socket, without going as far as giving his eye back. In those few minutes, Six-Fingers got so used to pain that the interruption is not an absence in his brains, it frees fireworks of pleasure, bewilders him. Captivating, really.

Bill gets close, holds him tightly in his tentacles again. Ford doesn't step back this time, just tenses his muscles. The demon takes his face between his hands.

He could tear off his second eye. He could do anything he wants. The human could flee, and didn't.

Instead he strokes his hair and says "You're so brave, Sixer."

Ford shivers deeply, from pleasure, dread, or both. Bill continues, his voice very soft. "I'm so proud of you. It was fantastic. I'm so happy to have you. You're wonderful, my human, my genius, perfect."

Ford's muscles unwind at last; he surrenders to Bill's embrace, crying with his lone eye. Bill can read his feelings, he knows it's a different kind of tears now. Humans are so weird. Good things he knows his subject a bit.

"I love you," Ford breathes brokenly.

Bill could happily point out that he already said it eighty-seven times, to show he paid attention. Instead he replies without really thinking about it "I love you too."

Ford curls up in the arms that were torturing him just a little time ago, moaning in pleasure. Bill would have never thought these feelings could taste good too.

Already he wonders how many times he can put the pieces of his little human together just for the joy of breaking him again.

He's not sure he'll ever want to stop.


End file.
